


Time-Filling

by hlwim



Series: Extraction [2]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Humor, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 17:58:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hlwim/pseuds/hlwim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few days post-Virmire, Shepard gets drunk, Joker asks a question, Garrus wins a game, and Kaidan cleans up. (ME1, implied Shenko)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jane and Jeff

They've been stuck in port for three days now: an increasingly apathetic administrator repeatedly misplaces their paperwork and forgets to find it again. Hanshan's open to them, though, so most of the crew spends their off-hours relaxing at the hotel bar or wandering the shops. But there's nothing she wants ashore, so Shepard finds Joker at the mess table and sets a bottle of whiskey between his hands.

“I want to get drunk,” she says, a little too loud, and he can only stare, bemused. “I'd prefer to get drunk with you, because getting drunk alone makes me feel like an alcoholic. Would you like to get drunk with me?”

He's only got one answer, and it's the one she'd hoped for, so she hooks an arm around his waist and walks them up to the cockpit.

“Because the mess is too public,” she says, dropping into the copilot chair.

“And your cabin would be creepy.”

“But the pilot's chair is completely appropriate.”

He gives her a wary look as she pours. She's already knocked hers back before he even lifts his glass.

“We're not gonna toast or anything?”

“To what?” Shepard asks, pouring herself another. He sips, savoring the taste.

“I dunno. Life, the universe, everything?”

She's about to start on her third but pauses with the rim on her lips, considering.

“Okay,” she says and raises her glass a little too quickly, whiskey sloshing down the sides. “Here's to life.”

“Here's to our continued existence, against all logical odds.”

“Here's to our dumb fucking luck.”

They clink glasses and drink, and she pours them another. He lets her drink in silence for awhile, nursing the massive shots she keeps pouring for them. He's at least three behind before he feels safe speaking.

“So Kaidan and Garrus stopped by before they left. Said they were going to the shops. How come you didn't go?”

“I've already been,” she says with a shrug. “I gave them the account number, so they can buy without me.”

“Still, the Terrible Trio. Figured you'd go out and have some fun at least.”

“You don't really call us that, do you?”

“Only in messages to Anderson.”

Now he's just two behind. She's staring at the whiskey, swirling it around the bottom of the bottle.

“Did you come up with it?” she says quietly, slowly. “Or...?”

“It was Ash,” he says, and she winces.

She quickly excuses herself to make a resupply run and composes a mask of drunk gaiety on the way back from the mess. She returns to Joker with four bottles, pretending to smile, and disappointment flickers through his eyes.

“No more toasts,” she says, throwing herself, as casually as she can, back into the copilot's chair. “We have a goal. That's enough.”

“Aye, aye, ma'am.”

Subtlety is far from his specialty, but courage doesn't come until the end of the second bottle.

“So, this is because you don't want to talk about Ash, right?”

“The fuck you just say to me?” Shepard slurs, rolling her head around to face him. Her eyes are bleary, but full of fire. He's not as distant as he'd like, but he's reasonably sure she'll be tripped up by the console if she lunges for him.

“I mean, Commander, you never let your hair down—”

He frowns at the mop of red hair that ends at her chin.

“Figuratively, anyway. I just mean, out of nowhere you decide you want to get blasted, with the only other person who's pretty much confined to the ship...”

“'M not confined,” she says. “I could leave if I want.”

“So why don't you?”

She breaks into ugly tears, and his smile melts. Rage, denial, even murderous confusion he could've dealt with, but Shepard curls up in the chair, arms crossed over her face, sobbing.

“Oh fuck,” he says. “Commander, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean—”

She's too far away for even an awkward shoulder pat, and he'd make too much of a scene getting up. For now, no one in the CIC has noticed, and Shepard works to calm herself, hiccuping, smearing the tears beneath her eyes.

“We won't talk, okay? No more talking,” he says desperately. “Just drinking.”

He demonstrates, quickly knocking back two shots and pouring them each another. Shepard just holds hers, every once in a while swirling the glass, staring into it blankly.

“Why does it feel like this?” she asks quietly.

Joker drinks slowly, giving himself plenty of time to find the best answer.

“Because it was as shit decision,” he finally says, matching her tone, “and it would've been a shit decision, whether you were in love with him or not.”

“That's not why I did it.”

“I know.”

“That's _not_ why I did it.”

“I said I know.”

Their eyes meet briefly before hers dart away again.

“I made the best choice,” she says. “The bomb was set—me and Kirrahe and Tali worked over every inch—there was no way the geth could stop it before detonation. Extraction was priority. We couldn't let them bring the AA gun back online, and I couldn't let Kirrahe and his men take the bullet for all of us.”

She pauses, and downs the shot, and then sets the empty glass on the console before he can refill it.

“But I keep thinking.”

“Dangerous way to fill the time, Commander.”

“If I had sent Ash with the salarians, and kept Kaidan at the bomb site—”

“Don't do that,” Joker says firmly, and her gaze snaps around to him again, chin trembling, eyes red and puffy. “That way leads nowhere good. You made the choice you made. It was the best choice. The only one.”

“But I wonder...” she whispers, a little broken.

“Then stop. And if you can't, drink. It's what Ash would want—what she would've done.”

He gestures to the remaining bottles.

“Exactly how Irish are you, Commander?”

She smiles.

“Irish as you need me to be.”

He opens one bottle and hands her the other.

“For the lost,” he says, and pours a little on the floor. Shepard almost laughs, copying the gesture.

“For the lost,” she agrees, and they drink.


	2. Garrus and Kaidan

They leave Opold's place empty-handed and head back for the ship in relatively comfortable silence. It's near midnight, and the port is cleaning itself out. They'd stuck it out at the bar as long as possible, but there's nothing to do except drink and shop and wait. Of the three, Kaidan's best at waiting.

“I'm just _saying_ , if you want everyone to stop looking down on volus manufacturing, maybe you should make a gun _worth_ firing,” Garrus grumbles. Kaidan just smiles, activating the decontamination cycle as the door hisses shut behind them.

“We could always see if Rosenkov's released something new.”

“Or beg Shepard for her Spectre Gear cast-offs. She's upgrading when we get to the Citadel.”

“Those weapons are for Spectres _only_ ,” Kaidan says, shaking his head. Garrus leans into the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

“You know, your natural sense of moral superiority goes so well with that peashooter you've had since Feros.”

“ _Peashooter_? Garrus, you're going native.”

The interior door _whooshes_ open at last, and they step inside, to a chorus of drunk noise. Shepard and Joker are sprawled in separate chairs, slurring, laughing, empty liquor bottles swinging from their hands.

“Not it!” Shepard says, head lolling, cracking herself up. A misfire of a high-five sends two more empty bottles careening across Joker's console, which somehow makes them both laugh harder.

“Loser takes Shepard,” Garrus says, holding up his closed fist. Kaidan picks scissors, and Garrus picks rock: he grins, sliding an arm between Joker and the seat, as Kaidan sighs and turns to Shepard.

“Look who's home!” she says, pushing herself up without even a hint of coordination—he hardly manages to keep her from slamming her head into the seat-back. “Did you have fun without me?”

“Lots of it,” he grunts, managing to secure one of her arms around his shoulders. “Let's get you to bed, okay?”

“ _Naughty_ ,” Shepard whispers, but no one else hears it, and Kaidan half-carries her across the CIC. The stairs are much more difficult—she seems to want to slide down the rail, or sit down and go to sleep right on the steps.

“C'mon, Commander,” he says. “We're almost there.”

He pulls her up again, using the wall as a brace, when her hands snake unexpectedly around his middle and she leans her chin on his shoulder.

“Taking me somewhere, LT?” she slurs, nuzzling against his skin. “I'm sure I'll like it.”

Kaidan runs through a mental roster of the crew. Only Grenado's on night-watch, and she likes to linger down in Engineering. Even Chakwas is usually asleep by now, so there's no one to sneak up on them, to watch as their commanding officer slowly, _drunkenly_ , kisses the side of his neck.

“Shepard,” he says, not nearly as firm as he'd like. “You're really drunk.”

“'S not what made me like you,” she replies, coy and breathy and now her lips are moving up, towards his jaw, and her hands are drifting as well, pulling him closer.

“Shepard, _stop_.”

She bites down right at the neckline of his fatigues, and he yelps, pushing himself back as she slumps down the wall, cackling.

His head pounds—unable to decide between embarrassment and arousal.

“You are my commanding officer,” Kaidan says, more for himself than her, balling his hands into fists, working the tension into his extremities and then away.

Shepard has reached the pliable phase of drunkenness, molding against his shoulder when he picks her up again. They reach her cabin without any further horrifying incidents, and he eases her onto the bed, on her side, head propped. He stays just long enough to be sure that she's asleep and won't choke or roll herself to the floor.

She is unguarded in sleep, jaw slack, mouth open, eyes pinched. She drools a little, and he knows he's in trouble when his first thought is how sweet she looks.

He locks himself up in an empty pod, thunking his head against the hard pillow until he falls asleep.

The releasing hiss wakes him in the morning, and he stumbles into the mess to a chorus of moans. Shepard and Joker sit across from each other, heads cradled, coffee beneath their noses.

“Shut up,” Joker begs.

“ _You_ shut up,” Shepard returns. “With the _shut up_.”

“If I keep talking, I'm going to throw up.”

“So stop talking,” Tali says flatly, from the opposite end of the table. Garrus pulls two bowls of soup from the dextro pantry and walks them past, drawing another round of pathetic moans. Kaidan can't help laughing a little.

Which draws Shepard's glare to him.

“Laugh it up, LT,” she says darkly, pushing herself upwards unsteadily. He reaches out to help her instinctively.

“I'm telling Anderson you tried to poison me,” Joker says.

“Shut up.”

“Sorry, ma'am,” Kaidan says, releasing her hand.

“Forgiven, LT.”

She brings a hand to her mouth and swallows, eyes closing.

“Think I can make it back to my cabin unassisted.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Of course everyone's watching, even Joker, eyes peeking between his fingers.

“What happened to your neck?” Shepard asks.

“Nothing,” Kaidan says, far too quickly. And _of course_ he's blushing, while Shepard just gives him a thousand-yard side-glance.

“Okay,” she says, huffing out a short breath. “I'm going to lie down. Page me if we get clearance.”

“Aye, aye, ma'am.”

He turns back to the table, where everyone has suddenly become very interested in breakfast, so he pours himself some coffee and sits in Shepard's vacant chair.

“So what _did_ happen to your neck?” Garrus asks innocently. “Lose a game?”

“Shut _up_.”


End file.
